


We Should "Team Up" More Often

by DuggDigger



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Spideypool - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuggDigger/pseuds/DuggDigger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spider-Man has a disastrous team-up with Deadpool, landing himself in the mercenary's care. Little do they know, they've also landed themselves in the middle of an alien conspiracy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I </3 NY

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this would be current comics Deadpool (sans Shiklah) and Andrew Garfield!Spider-Man thrown into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Peter has been in college a few years and is finally an Avenger.

It was turning out to be a suspiciously peaceful night in Manhattan... as far as criminal activity went, that is. Spider-Man swung from building to building almost listlessly. He careened through the air, swinging up onto familiar rooftop after rooftop, stopping briefly each time to surveil the area. It was becoming apparent that all of his usual haunts were eerily devoid of activity. It wasn't as though he was disappointed at the lack of commotion. Nobody was in danger that he could find, and that was what mattered. Sometimes it paid off living in a city practically overflowing with superheroes.

Maybe he could take the rest of the night off and finish writing a few papers. Lord knows he was anything but timely when it came to his course work. _Yeah_ , he thought, _Professor Martin is about at his wit’s end with me…_

"And I thought _I_ was the only one who talked to my boxes!"

Peter jumped almost a foot in the air as a gravelly, yet disconcertingly dulcet tone pierced the night air. He whipped around to face Deadpool. Why hadn't his spider sense gone off? The mercenary usually meant nothing but trouble, even though he seemed to have some sort of bizarre, fanboyish fixation on him. Plus, he totally ripped off his mask's design.

"So," Deadpool smirked cheerily through his mask, "You can keep on staring at me all starstruck - I know my dashing good looks are the envy of every belle at the ball - though I'm not wearing my evening gown at the moment, but hold on!" He began rummaging through his many pouches; none, of course, anywhere near large enough to contain an entire dress. "Honestly, you never know what's in these things, or even just behind my back, or anywhere, really, ready to deus ex machina themselves into being and, you know, actually-"

"Okay, look, stop, stop, stop." Peter interjected, a tinge of exasperation already creeping into his voice. He tried to muster up an authoritative tone. "Try to contain yourself for a moment and focus that goldfish you have in place of an attention span. Freeze the fishbowl if you need to." He planted his hands firmly on the merc's shoulders and whoa, they were huge. Deadpool was huge in general- taller than Peter by at least 4 inches and _very_ muscular. This was going to be difficult.

"What. Are you doing. On the same roof as me. At this hour. Isn't it more like you to rush in, guns blazing? What do you want, exactly?" No papers would be getting written tonight. As the adrenaline of Deadpool's sudden appearance simmered down, Peter started to become more curious than anything. He backed off a little, putting some space between himself and the larger man. "How did you know which roof I was on?"

"Look, Spidey, I know you've got, like, important shit going on here, what with the swinging and the moping, but I'll have you know that I’m on an actual, boner-fied, S.H.I.E.L.D.-appropriated mission. Wait, now that I think of it, they did give me this thing, the foresightful bastards. Though why they thought my good word wouldn't be enough escapes me." The merc pulled a card out of one of his pouches with a little flourish before shoving it too close to Peter's face. The latter snatched it out of Deadpool's gloved hands to get a better look. It appeared authentic enough, embellished with the little bird-shaped logo, shiny laminate catching a stray neon light. There was a computer chip visibly embedded in it, which would be overkill for a fake. It even had his name and headshot on it (taken quite literally by Deadpool, who had a gun to his own head in the photo), so he knew for certain Deadpool hadn't just stolen the damn thing.

"Okay, let's say that- hypothetically, of course- I believe you. Out of anyone else at their disposal, why choose you, a well-established not-so-good guy?"

"Oh, Spidey, you _wound_ me," Deadpool sighed melodramatically, holding his right hand over his heart. "Clearly, they entrusted me with this mission for my covertness and heroic resolve!" He stood tall, almost beaming. "So, obviously I can't tell you I'm supposed to drop in on a little get-together between Kingpin and the baddies of the week. Make the meeting less like a baby shower and more like a bloodbath, if you catch my meaning."

"What?! S.H.I.E.L.D. would not sanction something like that. I- I-" Peter faltered, momentarily pensive, brow furrowing under his mask. They did employ Barton and Romanoff, after all, who were constantly missing from Avengers Tower doing unspoken-of, less-than-savory things... Deadpool's story was slowly becoming more sound.

"Alright, the card looks legit, I'll give you that, but I can't have you just killing-"

"Assassinating," Deadpool corrected curtly, sounding almost offended, as though there was some sort of significant moral difference.

"Fine, _assassinating_ people on my turf. There's always another way, and maybe I can help you find it." Was he really saying this? Surely he could steer Deadpool away without... teaming up. He shuddered at the thought that was quickly becoming a reality. Why him? Why tonight?

"Yay, Deadpool/Spidey team up! Woohoo! It'll be just like issue 611!" Deadpool jumped in the air, punching a fist upward in triumph. "Am I dreaming? This always happens when I'm dreaming, except usually with a lot less spandex and a lot more-"

"I’m gonna stop you before this gets any weirder than it already is- you need to tell me what we're looking at here. Where are they convening and what exactly is happening there that S.H.I.E.L.D. wants them dead?"

“Oh, my dear, sweet, Spidey. This isn’t even 2% as weird as it could be. We’re looking at suspected arms dealing between Kingpin and The Hand. I guess they need more sai and ninja disappear-yourself smoke? Not my prerogative. I just get with the killing, get gone, and get paid. Shit’s going down in Hell’s Kitchen around 46th. Now, what else do you need to know, honey buns? My shoe size, maybe? You know, they say foot size is relative to-”

“Oh my god, would you cut that out? This is serious, Deadpool.” Thankfully, there was no way Deadpool could see him blush beneath his mask. “How long do we have?”

Deadpool looked at his right wrist, miming checking a watch. “Any minute, so try and keep up!” The merc abruptly began racing ahead, making a near-impossible leap onto the next rooftop over, somersaulting, then transitioning back to his wild pace in one fluid motion. Peter quickly followed, startled by the sudden jump into action.

Several minutes of roof parkour later, they slowed down, approaching the final rooftop less frenetically. Deadpool lay down flat on his belly, peering over a gap in the roof’s ledge, as Spider-Man reluctantly followed suit. “So what’s the plan, Mr. Do-Right? How we gonna swing this without killing?” Deadpool whispered into Peter’s ear, scooting closer. They were already uncomfortably close before he had moved- at least for Peter. Before he could say anything, two shady figures carrying large duffel bags cautiously made their way into the alleyway. Luckily for them, the men weren’t exactly discreet.

“Okay, there’s two grunts, but there should be some sort of liaison for Kingpin. Ol’ Butterball would never come to one of these things alone. Or at all, for that matter. And the Hand guys are weirdly late,” Deadpool murmured. They stayed hunkered down for another short while as the tick of a manual watch seemed to grow louder and louder. Peter almost facepalmed as he noticed the watch was indeed on one of Deadpool’s wrists, but not the one he’d checked earlier.

The two men in the alleyway, now slightly more visible, appeared to be wearing well-tailored business suits. They could’ve blended right in to Manhattan’s regular nightlife, if it weren’t for their bulky cargo. Deadpool propped his head up on his elbows with an over-exaggerated yawn as they continued to linger uneventfully.

With a puff of black smoke, before Peter could even shout a warning, three Hand ninja descended upon them from behind, sai gleaming viciously. Deadpool bolted into action, unholstering two hand guns and flipping around, kneecapping two of them. Spidey knocked the third unconscious with a swift kick to the face. One of the men, bleeding profusely and clutching a knee in agony, still managed to throw several ninja stars at Peter. He expertly dodged the first two, spider sense burning, but two more embedded themselves in both his left shoulder and chest with a sickening _thu-thunk_. With that, the remaining ninja went down for the count.

There were still two more goons on the ground to deal with. Peter leapt down to an adjacent fire escape and tried to shoot a web with his good arm to restrain one of them. He missed his mark by a solid foot or so, and god those stars must've gone deeper than he thought. Just to make matters worse, he nearly took a spray of bullets to the chest. Deadpool leapt in front of him, taking the brunt of the barrage. A stray bullet still managed to graze Peter's temple, dazing him, while another flew straight past Deadpool and into his right leg. He crumpled to the ground from the shock, now having lost most use of two limbs.

"You don't bring AKs to a ninja battle! I even have my own sai! And shooting at my friend, too... Bad choices all around, fellas," Deadpool shouted grimly, leaping down into the alley, swords at the ready as bullets began to fall out of his chest. Before they could react, he lopped off the right hand of one of the goons as the other moved to yell into a radio before it was yanked away by a web. The now-radioless man dropped his weapon and held his hands up in surrender. Deadpool quickly sliced off his left leg at the knee as the man wailed in anguish. “Oh, walk it off, you pansy,” he said flippantly as the man fell over next to his counterpart, both now doubled over in shock.

Deadpool picked up both duffel bags, slinging each of them over a different shoulder as he vaulted up a few flights of fire escape stairs to get back up top. Peter was nearly no better off than the men on the ground, propped up against the exterior of the building like a ragdoll, and losing a lot of blood. A tuft of brown hair stuck out of the tear in his mask where the bullet had grazed.

As he began to slump down, losing consciousness rapidly, a swirling red and black figure came into his field of vision. "Saw that... said... no killing..."

“Hey, hey, now, I didn't _kill_ anyone... not directly! They'll live if someone stops the bleeding, but those joints, man, I can't help it that they're just like the ones on Transformers! They up and fall off if you step on them even the tiniest... Spidey?” Deadpool's nervous babbling was oddly soothing. The last thing Peter saw as his world began to spin faster and darken were the somehow concerned-looking white eyes of Deadpool’s mask.

*****************************************************************************************

Because nobody demanded it...

**Deadpool’s Trivia**!

Did you know that Andrew Garfield is the exact same height as 616 Spidey (5’10”). What’re the odds?!

When I mention issue #611, I’m talkin’ ‘bout Amazing Spider-Man #611. It’s the second-to-last time my old pal Joe Kelly wrote me, so, naturally I get to have a “your momma” joke-off with Spidey! Classic.

Don’t step on your Transformers, ladies and dweebs. It hurts like a bitch _and_ breaks their feeble little ball-joints.


	2. Matthew Broderick's day was better

Peter awoke to the unmistakable smell of Mexican food, which was great because his stomach was presently a bottomless pit of despair. A bright sliver of sunlight rested directly over his eyes, which he quickly closed again. He was definitely not ready for sunlight, how was there so much of it? He mechanically reached over to the nightstand- did it get taller?- and fumbled unsuccessfully for his phone. Peter wasn’t exactly a drinker, but his head pounded with what could only be the world’s worst hangover. He moved to pull the sheets over his head, which someone had considerately tucked under his arms. He was met with a sharp, shooting pain in his left shoulder. “YEEE-OW!”

Something clattered to the ground in a far away room. Footsteps padded quickly in his direction, slowing as they neared. In sauntered Deadpool, clad in his regular red-and-blacks, but with an old-timey nurse’s cap and gown thrown on over. Peter’s first instinct was to gawk. And then, as if magnetized, his good hand flew to his face. Thankfully, he was still wearing his mask, but who was to say that Deadpool hadn’t taken a look? Clearly, he’d been out cold at least overnight. “Wh-what the hell?” he spluttered.

Deadpool stuck his chest out and took on a sing-songy falsetto. “I heard that you were feeling ill- headache, fever, and a chill! I came to help restore your pluck, cuz I’m the nurse who likes to-”

“OH MY GOD. Slam door, cut to next scene!” Peter was so not in the mood for antics of this caliber. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, only now noticing the bandages that had been carefully wrapped around his chest and left shoulder. Details of the previous night began clicking together to form a complete memory. Deadpool had taken to leaning against the doorframe in what one could only assume was meant to be a seductive pose.

“Well, let it never be said that I’m not _hospitable_.” Deadpool spat out the last word, taking on an air of disdain. “And no, I didn’t look under your precious mask. No need,” he touched a hand to his left temple as Peter mirrored the motion. “So, I mean, I do know your hair color, but it ain’t like there aren’t literally a million other cute little brunets running around this city. And what if you dyed it? Not that I’m accusing you, I’m just sayin’, you never know.”

Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding with an over-dramatic sigh. “Okay, okay. I guess… thank you. Seriously.” His stomach let out a loud growl, ending an awkward silence before it began. “What time is it, anyway?”

Deadpool glanced at his right wrist. “Looks like... taco o' clock!” the merc chirped brightly, hopping to his toes and scurrying out of the room.

“I’d prefer eastern standard!” Peter shouted after him uselessly, throwing his head back against the headboard a little too hard. “Awww, c’mon,” he grumbled as his headache intensified. Sitting back up slightly, he made a concerted effort to take in his surroundings. He was situated in a cozy little bedroom, walls painted a pale yellow to accentuate what must be the only room with decent natural lighting. With the curtains mostly closed, there wasn't really a good way to tell if it was even an apartment, but he figured it was safe to assume as much. Apart from the bed and nightstand, there was no furniture. There was very little in the way of decor, but what there was was very nice- a 46-inch Sony TV was mounted on the wall across from the bed, its power cord dangling inches above an outlet.

Since Deadpool didn’t seem to be in much of a rush to get back, Peter decided to make his way out of the bedroom. His stomach was in the early stages of mutiny, barely overcoming his better judgement. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, only then remembering his final and worst injury. As deeply embedded as the ninja stars must have been, a bullet hole in the shin was something else entirely. Eyeing the bandages closely and noting that there was only padding in one area, he gingerly put a small amount of weight on his leg. Pain jolted through it like a bolt of Thor’s magical lightning as blood welled to the surface of the bandage. Hissing through his teeth, he motioned to run his hand through his hair and was stopped by his mostly-intact mask. He wasn’t at the point where he’d actually _call out_ for Deadpool yet, so he instead resigned himself to angry silence.

As if on cue, Deadpool stepped in to the room, carrying a tray of a dozen tacos, a large bottle of water, and a bottle of Gatorade (the blue kind). In an uncharacteristic act of what must have been pity, he had ditched the nurse’s garb. “Bon appetit! Erm, wait… Salud!” He exclaimed, closing the gap between himself and the bed to sit on the edge. He slid the tray across the queen-size mattress so that it nudged Peter’s hand. The larger man eyed Peter’s position. “Oh, don’t tell me you tried to stand up! Thing’s gotta be gushing more than Sandra Bullock at The Oscars!”

Peter cringed at the stupidly accurate description. “Yeah, something like that,” he sighed as he pulled the tray into his lap. He started to lift up his mask, warily noting Deadpool’s stare. Deadpool had seen him with his mask half-up before, and vice versa, so he really had no reason to stare. He seemed almost tense. Way to put undue pressure on a guy. He rolled the mask up to his nose and began to eat, hunger overcoming his sudden and misplaced modesty.

“Y’know, if anyone can pull off that scruffy neckbeard-y look it’s you, but I think I prefer-”

“You OH iff -een like a -AY,” Peter mumbled, not swallowing his food until after he spoke. “And why should I care what you prefer?” He was already on his fourth taco and started to slow down. He was hitting that not-so-great point where you haven't eaten in so long that you think you need to keep going, but your stomach doesn’t have the capacity.

"Because my taste is impeccable,” Deadpool stated matter-of-factly as he reached over and swiped two tacos, rolling his mask up to his nose with the other hand. At some point he had scooted over to sit next to Peter. "Dear diary, today was a very good day. I got mad paid by Big Brother, _and_ had a doubleplusgood dinner date with Spidey! Nine stars out of ten, would live again." How Deadpool was comprehensible while putting away two tacos was something of a mystery.

Peter took a long swig of Gatorade before switching to water. "Yeah, so, this isn't a ‘dinner date’; I'm practically your hostage here. Again, not that I don't appreciate everything, because really, I do. This is just _very_ inconvenient for me. I have a lot going on right now." He shrugged, only wincing slightly. "Say, there isn't a bathroom around here, is there?"

Deadpool scrambled to his feet, pulling his mask down just as he polished off a third taco. "Iiiis there a bathroom, he asks? I'll have you know that this pad is decked out with not one, but two, count ‘em, two bathrooms!" He gestured to a door directly across the hall, then in some vague other direction with all the enthusiasm of the game show host he seemed to be impersonating.

"Well, thanks, I guess I'll... um..." Peter looked around the room, lost in how best to ask for a hand.

Before he could protest, Peter was being scooped up into a bridal carry. A few careful strides, and Deadpool let him down onto his good leg slowly as he steadied himself with his right arm. "You gonna be okay, Spidey-babes?" Deadpool asked.

Peter nodded his head quickly, defeated. Surely anything he said would only make things more embarrassing. Deadpool stepped out, shutting the door behind him. Hidden behind the doorway were a set of crutches. "Oh, fer fu-" Deadpool snickered as he caught Spider-Man swearing. He strolled down the hall and towards the living room.

*****************************************************************************************

**Deadpool’s Trivia**

My little song (and get-up) is from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. If you haven’t seen that, I don’t know if we can be friends. It’s on Netflix, though, so, I mean, my friendship is pretty cheap. …Wait, am I doing ads now?

No, I don’t like “America’s Sweetheart,” “Queen of Shitty Romcoms,” Sandra Bullock. Though, if she does another Six Million Dollar Man/The Bionic Woman, crossover, she may yet be forgiven.


	3. My identical twin gets cast in the worst movies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy guacamole, 1000 hits! I don’t even know what to say except THANKS SO MUCH, y’all! Seems like a good time to throw the next chapter out there, no?

As it turned out, the crutches were not the best option yet. Peter healed faster than most, but even he couldn’t recover from multiple deep wounds in less than a day. He hobbled all the way out to the living room before collapsing on the surprisingly soft couch. He let the crutches fall and clatter to the hardwood loudly. The whole room was like the couch- surprisingly not-gross, save for the fine layer of dust coating everything. His left shoulder and chest ached profoundly. He'd felt the bandages start to tear when he'd covered two thirds of the distance to the spacious room. If Peter was anything, he wasn't a quitter.

Deadpool popped his head out of the kitchen quizzically. " _Wow_ , you made it out here? I- I mean, cool, you made it out here! You know, the crutches were more of a joke, really, but I'll be damned!"

Peter should have been angry, but he was too tired, aching from his trek to the living room. "Why do you even have crutches?" He sighed.

Deadpool shrugged halfheartedly, starting to walk to the dining room. "They come in handy when I need a leg up!" His stupid grin was evident even under the mask. Leave it to him to make light of something so macabre. "But, speaking of Hands... You've gotta see what they were about to get themselves on." He motioned with his thumb to the two black duffel bags from the night before, now unzipped and sitting on the dining room table.

Peter wanted to hit his head again, but the feeling dissipated when a soft blue glow emanating from one of the duffel bags caught his eye. "I thought you said it was ordnance."

"Ohhh, yeah, that's where it gets good." Deadpool hauled the glowing bag to the couch, dropping it unceremoniously on the coffee table. He plopped down next to Peter, pulling the table closer. "These _are_ weapons- just nothing I've used or even seen before, and you know that's saying something."

"Huh," Peter zipped the bag open wider, taking in the sight of what was either alien tech or from the far-distant future. "This..." He ran two fingers over what was obviously gun, "...looks like something out of Men in Black."

"Really? I was thinking R.I.P.D.”

“R.I.P.-what?”

“That’s the spirit! Anywho, I was gonna test 'em the old fashioned way- y’know, head down to the docks and wreak havoc on some seagulls- but none of it actually works. None of it except Mr. Glowy there, if you call what it does 'working.'" He pointed at the device Peter had begun reaching for.

Peter’s hand recoiled slightly from the glowing, egg-like object as he noticed the light grow brighter the closer he reached. On either end of it was a flat, brushed circle of metal about the size of a quarter. The glowing center swirled and danced with bright blue light. It was beautiful, though, as Deadpool had mentioned, useless as a weapon. He set it down in the center of the coffee table.

“While I admire The Hand’s taste in miniature lava lamps, the guns look a little easier to comprehend. We’re not going to figure anything out on our own, though. We’ll need a seriously advanced lab with top-of-the-line equipment.”

Deadpool’s demeanor did a 180° and he stood abruptly. “Yeah, alright, I know where you’re going with this. It’s cool. Really. Have fun with the rest of the nerd police. Make sure to set up some webcams for me in Thor’s room if you get the chance, though. I want to know if he braids his hair every night or uses curlers. ‘S just so wavy. I’ll, um, be….” he trailed off, uncharacteristically. The defeated merc wandered off down the hallway, presumedly towards the second, main bedroom.

Unspoken words lifted from the tip of Peter’s tongue like a flock of birds. He had sat there as Deadpool wandered off, dejected. He cursed, but to himself this time. A combination of exhaustion from his wounds and guilt made him burrow into the cushions more deeply. After a moment, he glared at the TV remote still sitting on the coffee table. Looking down at his wrist, he smiled. While Deadpool had removed the top half of his suit and his gloves, his web shooters were still secure around his wrists. Deadpool may not have been able to get them off, he thought. In one agile motion, he had the remote in hand. He settled back to watch TV.

An hour or so of Futurama reruns later (it was the sixth season, so it hardly counted, anyway), Peter was unspeakably bored. Overlaying the boredom, however, was a nagging curiosity. He webbed the glowing alien egg-thing into his hand as gently as he could, and turned it over slowly under the white light of the chandelier. He held it between his thumb and pinky, fumbling it for a moment before catching it again. He sighed, relieved that the object didn’t explode. He’d had it pegged as a grenade of some sort. Right as he was starting to thank his lucky stars, glowing blue mist sprayed from the top of the device like aerosol. It went straight into his face, and he began coughing violently. The mist had filled his lungs and he couldn’t breathe. He tore at his mask, panicked. It came off in shreds, strips of fabric sticking to his frantic fingers. He hunched forward, continuing to cough into his hand the best he could.

In a blur of red and black, Deadpool rushed into the living room, swords drawn - it was his default response to trouble. Quickly realizing the emergency was more of a medical nature, he sheathed the katanas and strode over to Peter briskly. He sat down next to him on the couch, gingerly placing a gloved hand on his back. “Hey, whoa, do you remember this thing called breathing? Try to do that, as slowly as possible. Hold your good breaths in as long as you can to absorb more oxygen… There you go, more like that.” Deadpool’s voice was oddly soothing, his hand rubbing in small circles on his back, and Peter slowly recovered his breath. “There we go! First step to being a successful living being: check!”

Peter sat back up carefully. Everything felt… fuzzy. He ran a hand through his messy hair and looked up at Deadpool, smiling earnestly. “Thanks. I mean, seriously, for everything.” Deadpool froze up for some reason. He lifted a finger, seeming to open his mouth for a moment, then faltered as his hand fell back to his side.

“What, did it turn me blue or something?!” Peter looked down at his hands - normal - and then back up at Deadpool.

“Well… it actually…There’s an Arrested Development joke there, but it’s way too obv- I mean, no, you look _great_ , but your…”

Peter blanched as he spotted the tatters of his mask on the other side of the room. A whirlwind of emotions filled him and then left him in an instant. Okay, so that had happened. He dragged his palms down his face, only feeling a little exasperated.

Deadpool seemed to have found the right words. “I won’t tell anybody, I promise! I mean, what am I gonna say, anyway, ‘Hey, guys, Spidey’s, like, _super gorgeous_! If you want to know his secret identity, stand in on the next Really, Really, Really, Ridiculously Good-Looking Anonymous meeting, then follow him home! I mean, c’mon, it’s not like you’re somebody famous under there, I’d’ve recognized you.’” He had a point. “Not that that face shouldn’t be famous,” he added under his breath.

Peter leaned back on the couch again. Now that he had fully caught his breath, he actually felt pretty good. “I guess… I guess you’re right,” he shrugged. 

“Now hold on right there, I’m WHAT? Spidey doth protest too little, methinks!” The merc leaned over and picked the alien cannister up off the floor, now a pallid grey, devoid of light, and slightly lighter weight. Deadpool considered the object. “Thought this was a grenade, for sure,” he mumbled, before setting it on the coffee table. “Are you sure you’re feeling, well… normal?”

“‘M great,” Peter glanced over at him, revealing that his pupils had dilated to twice their normal size. He smiled lazily.

“Would you say you feel… amazing, even? Spectacular?” Deadpool barely choked back his laughter. Stoned Spidey. This was one for the books. Yeah, he was _never_ going to let him hear the end of this.

“Probably more amazing.” Peter was now staring at his web shooters, turning his wrists over, mystified. “I _made_ these,” he blurted out incredulously.

“I’m sure you did, pal,” Deadpool stood up, turning toward the kitchen.

Peter stood as well, grabbing Deadpool’s shoulder, who bristled at the touch, and turned him around around to face him. “No, no, look, I made these,” Peter waved his wrist in Deadpool’s face as he pointed at some part of the device.

“Mhmm, and they’re very nice,” he methodically removed the hand from his shoulder. As much as he violated others’ personal space, he didn’t seem to enjoy being on the receiving end, or know quite how to react. He noticed that Peter was standing firmly on his injured leg. “Whoa, there, I think maybe you’re feeling a little _too_ good. C’mon, I know delusions of grandeur can be a thing, but you’re not _me_.” He eased Peter back onto the couch. “Look, I know you can’t feel it right now, but you’re gonna be all kinds of pissed off later if you find out I let you stand on that and it- OOF.”

Peter had pulled Deadpool down onto the couch with him, giggling as he easily wrestled himself on top of the larger man. Deadpool inhaled sharply. “Yeah, you win. Okay… this is just… I don’t think you know…”

“See? _Amazing_ ,” Peter grinned triumphantly. Some of the torn bandages had slid down his chest after the one-sided wrestling match. Though the bandages were bloodied, there wasn’t a single sign that he had even so much as been scratched the day before.

Deadpool’s heart beat faster as he realized that he was dealing with a fully-healed, possibly mind-whammied, and definitely shirtless and maskless Spider-Man. Who also happened to be right on top of him.

Oh god, yep. This had hallucination written all over it.

*****************************************************************************************

**Deadpool’s Trivia**

What is there for me to say? _I’m freaking out, man!_

...I still have to say something? Oh, fine.

R.I.P.D. was Ryan Reynolds’ fourth comic book movie, and fifth straight movie in a row that totally sucked- a career low, by my count! I saw Safe House, but I can’t remember it, so that’s still going in the “totally sucked” category.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s something cool: the next chapter is from Wade’s perspective! And yes, the explicit tag will finally kick into gear!


	4. Is it just me or are chapter titles getting progressively longer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, hell. I haven’t written as far as I wanted to at this point, but screw it. HAPPY NEW YEAR, have some sexy times!

Sirens blared in Wade’s head. THIS WAS NOT A DRILL. Spidey was very much straddling him, and he was very much in a compromising position beneath him. And they were on _his_ couch. Well, one of his couches, anyway.

This unbelievably handsome man that happened to also be Spidey, _his Spidey_ , not a Skrull or something, was currently staring at Wade’s chest. He continued to panic internally. Well, more externally at this point. “So, um, I know the view from up there must be stellar, but I’m feeling like we’d have better luck watching TV sitting next to each other.” He managed to squirm backwards slightly, pushing against the couch with his hands.

Spider-Man met his masked eyes, “I’m not watching TV. I’m watching you.” He poked a finger at his chest with the last word, smiling dopily and licking his lips.

“Haha, well, you know, I don’t think I’ve got access to the kind of, uh, _premium_ channels you seem to be interested in.” He noted the tent forming in the other’s spandex bottoms, fighting back his own growing arousal. Spidey had started to trace random designs on his chest.

Wade tried to sit up, but was quickly forced back down by Spidey’s hand, super-strength in effect. He gulped. God, that was hot. The half-costumed hero continued to press an open palm to his chest as he peeled the bottom of Wade’s mask up with the other. “That’s something you really don’t want to do,” he snapped as he grabbed Spider-Man’s wrist with both hands, stopping him, if only for a moment.

Spidey stroked what was bared of Wade’s scarred chin surprisingly softly in contrast to the pressure on his chest. “Oh, but I do,” he planted a tender kiss on Wade’s chin, then continued to pull the mask up to his nose, breaking his wrist away from Wade’s hands effortlessly.

Wade was a deer in the fucking headlights. This was everything he wanted, but Spidey was hopped up on some sort of alien drug. There was no way this would be happening otherwise. Who in their right mind saw his skin up close and kept going?! _He_ was the one who wanted to jump Spidey’s bones, not the other way around. It could never be the other way around.

“It’s definitely the other way around,” Spidey leaned in and kissed him earnestly, slipping in a little tongue. Stunned, Wade barely started to return the favor before deciding to pull away.

“Great, now you’re wrecking my yellow boxes,” he huffed. His hands alternated between hovering at his sides and gripping the couch. He was rock-hard after the kiss and still trying to think straight- which was difficult for him normally, let alone in morally ambiguous sexual situations involving his second-favorite superhero (sorry, Cap was still Cap).

Suddenly, Spidey ground their erections together roughly, and Wade saw stars. He bucked his hips up automatically in response. “Ah! I only… kind of meant that,” he sputtered. “You- you ever read that book ‘He’s Just Not That Into You?’; you can’t make yourself too available!”

Spidey kissed a line down his neck and each touch of his lips felt electric, even through his costume. His thumbs traced Wade’s hipbones before sliding under the top of his costume and beginning to pull UP-

 

Oh man, oh fuck, “You don’t want to do that,” he tried. “I mean, okay, obviously you really do, but, seriously, that’s- COMICS CODE AUTHORITY! Was that the safeword? No? Usually there’s a safeword!” Spidey showed no sign of stopping, quite possibly having tuned him out. Perfect. “Really, though, it ain’t any prettier down there than up here- c’mon, you’ve seen my chin, you’ve seen it all!” How was he going to- why couldn’t he just- Wade squeezed his eyes shut, patting his right thigh until he touched the hilt of his favorite dagger. Bingo. He’d redeem this offer at a later time.

Spider-Man’s hand touched the skin of his stomach, and Wade caught fire. In a fraction of a second, he deftly flipped the small blade around to face upward and jabbed. In a slightly smaller fraction of a second, Spidey’s iron- more adamantium, really- grip enclosed Wade’s wrist and forced it into the couch cushion. “Hoo-boy, now _that’s_ awkward. Caught me with my ‘dagger’ out.” He dropped the knife and Spidey’s grip loosened.

Still straddling Wade, Spider-Man tossed the weapon across the room, releasing the merc’s arms. The blank, hazy look on his face had become shockingly concerned in an instant. Wade could actually see a sliver of deep brown seeping into the outer edges of his iris. “You… were going to stab me?” Spidey asked worriedly.

“You can fucking hear me!?” Wade sat up on his elbows sharply.

“‘Course I can. Could I... not hear you?” Spidey stared at him, mystified.

“NO! No, you could not fucking hear me, so, yeah, _I was going to stab you_ ,” Wade glared, gritting his teeth. “But only a little. You don’t really need your spleen. And besides, you seem to be healing pretty damn well right now,” he gestured at Spider-Man’s shoulder with a nod.

Spidey looked down at his chest and shoulder and his eyes went wide. “Whoa.” He tore off the remainder of the bandages, touching the skin where his wounds had been.

“Yeah, accelerated healing’s pretty neat when you don’t have my… side effects.”

Spider-Man looked back at Wade, and his pupils were still dilated, but now maybe half the size they were earlier. He looked down at their still-throbbing erections and blushed. “I’m, uh… having my own side effects, it looks like…” He cleared his throat, seeming not to know where to look. Did he not remember how exactly he got in this position? Wade cupped his cheek with one hand, using his other to keep himself propped up on the couch.

“Well, you know, I’m a world-renowned expert in these types of side effects.” He smirked, pulling Spidey’s pretty face closer so that their noses were almost touching.

“B-but, you were going to stab-”

“Yes, I believe that’s been fairly well-e- _stab_ -lished. What’s a little knife wound between friends? Anyway, that was before I knew you weren’t still at least mostly yourself.”

“Oh. That’s… actually really considerate, albeit misbegotten.”

Okay, so he was at least using semi-large words now. “Ah, you know me. Dick of diamonds, heart of gol-”

Spider-Man kissed his babbling friend with fervor. Now, Wade got to kiss back for real. Their teeth clashed clumsily. Spidey leaned into him as he laid back on the couch. This time around, there was no internal struggle over where his hands should or shouldn’t go. He grabbed Spidey’s ass with both, and it was every bit as magical as he’d imagined.

They rubbed against each other hungrily, Spidey once more placing his hands on Wade’s hips. He slid a thumb under the bottom edge of his costume, this time rubbing one thumb in circles questioningly. He pulled away from Wades lips. “Can I…?”

Wade looked downward almost shyly. “Look, I’ll say it again: it’s not like it gets any better the further down you go…”

Spidey simply looked at him with a lopsided smile. “Wade, I know what you look like. It’s not a turn-off, seriously… it’s actually pretty hot.” He kissed Wade’s chin, licking along the gnarled ridges of his scars, then pulled back again, cocking his head to one side. “Also, I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror lately, but you’re, like, super ripped.” He went back to kissing him as he worked Wade’s costume top up and over his head. Spidey pressed his chest against Wade’s. “Better, right?”

Wade was almost undone. It was rare enough that he had any sort of sexual encounter, let alone touched his skin to someone else’s. He moaned, feeling the warm, soft skin against his. Spidey was lean, but well-muscled enough for him to feel. Guh.

They rutted against each other feverishly, Spidey’s hands all over Wade’s back. “‘M not gonna last long, here,” Wade managed, giving Spidey’s left buttock one good last squeeze. He came hard, and Spider-Man came quickly after him, the both of the panting laboriously. He let his full weight collapse on to Wade.They fell into a jumbled mix of limbs, falling sound asleep before having a chance to strip themselves of their soiled leggings.

*********************************************************

Well, Spider-Man was asleep, anyway. After an hour or so, Wade extricated himself from the couch carefully. He moved about the apartment silently and with purpose. Before stepping out the door, he stood above Spidey, now tucked in on the couch with a Deadpool insignia-laden blanket. Something he thought might’ve been his heart ached. 

He hefted the second bag before resting it on his shoulder. Yeah... Just some freaky alien shit. There’s no way it was anything else.

*********************************************************

**Deadpool’s Trivia**

The “He’s Just Not That Into You” line is from Zombieland, but with genders flipped. But when I say it, it’s more correct, because that’s the actual title of the book/movie. Take that, writers who may or may not’ve been afraid of copyright!

Oh, and speaking of the Zombieland writers: they’re also writing my movie! And- spoiler alert- it’s really, crazy good. Or at least the first draft was. Don’t fuck this up, Fox! 

The Comics Code Authority was a terrible, no good, very bad thing used to keep disrespect for authority, “excessive” violence, and weird sex stuff out of mainstream comics from the ‘50s to the early 2000s, when publishers finally ditched it. Meaning, you can go out and buy yourself at least 50 different issues of Deadpool that are CCA approved! Clearly, nothing slipped past them- nothing.

Guess what? You don’t actually need your spleen. Look it up. I mean, don’t go carving yours out for science or anything, but you could totally live without it. It’s just gonna suck when you catch a cold or somethin’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, Deadpool was rambling something fierce with his trivia for this chapter. Hope he’s okay.
> 
> I wanted to mention, because it made me laugh, a commenter made some predictions about what would happen this chapter… oh, boy, things didn’t quite turn out that way, huh? Not to worry, though, there will be a “happy ending” to this story, if you catch my drift.
> 
> ...I'm going to fuck in up now, aren't I?


	5. I Don't Wanna Talk About It

It had been a week since Peter and Wade’s encounter. And, boy, what a week it was. On top of all the normal school and hero stuff he had on his plate, Peter now had a major Deadpool problem. It was a problem that went beyond the whole “slept with him while under the influence of an alien drug and woke up alone” thing, which was currently at the forefront of his personal “Problems” folder. It was something really quite important to these new friends he was hanging out with: The Avengers.

He couldn’t exactly call them friends yet. It had only been a couple of months since they welcomed him on to the team as a “junior member” (Tony’s words). Not a lot had happened since then that each of them couldn’t handle individually. Once, Peter had actually been in the area his StarkPhone had pinged with an alert. All he arrived to find were the remains of a medium-sized alien monster and a blasé Iron Man, who mentioned something about a portal before flying off.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had hired Deadpool to interrupt the arms deal between The Hand and The Kingpin, but that was all. They hadn’t known about the alien- Chitauri, Peter knew now- ordnance. A deal between their respective organizations was cause for worry enough, let alone a deal involving weapons that the world’s premier superhero-focused spy agency was still learning about.

Deadpool, ever the opportunist, had predictably cashed in on his successful mission and took off with the loot. And he had done it right under Peter’s nose. He was pretty out of it at first that evening, sure, but after his spider sense had gone off when Wade pulled the knife on him, he was completely cognizant. Just much more forward than he ever would have been on his own.

Wade had been his sort-of friend for a while, and he really liked the guy. They resonated on the same weird frequency. Sometimes they would go out for street food together. It was always tacos, unless he had a say (he usually didn’t). He’d never really thought of him that way until the past week.

But, that was the thing- he’d had a week to think about this ad nauseam. He’d run through approximately 19 different scenarios in which Deadpool could recognize him on the street. He also couldn’t resolve any weird feelings he may or may not have had, seeing as how the mercenary had completely vanished.

And so it came to pass that S.H.I.E.L.D. had enlisted Spider-Man, the last person to see Deadpool and a known associate, to attempt to track him down and/or lure him out. The alien tech he’d absconded with was invaluable. As far as S.H.I.E.L.D. knew, Spider-Man had helped Deadpool take down the ninja and goons in the alleyway. He’d noticed the weapons’ odd appearances, but hadn’t thought much of it until the next evening, when he caught one of the specials on TV about the one-year anniversary of The Battle of New York. He put two and two together, and contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. immediately. It was a dumb story, but they bought it. He wasn’t about to compromise Deadpool’s safe house, even if it was only one of what were surely many.

So, Peter found himself on a different kind of patrol that night, for the sixth night in a row. He’d already checked every street food vendor that he could find- once per night, except for today. He’d mostly given up on that search; it was too obvious. Deadpool’s apartment hadn’t yielded any clues either. He would say it had been wiped clean, but, dust aside, the place had looked like a hotel room even before Deadpool took off.

If he was honest with himself, Peter was tracking Deadpool down more for himself than for S.H.I.E.L.D. He assured himself that it was because he was an incredibly dangerous man who knew what Spider-Man’s face looked like. He was the sole living good guy (okay, maybe not good guy, but, he wasn’t a _complete_ villain) who knew Spider-Man’s face. In reality, Peter wanted to have a little heart-to-heart with Wade. When had he started calling him _Wade_ , anyway?

He shook his head and swung off in the direction of the nearest food stand. Falafel sounded great and he needed to take a break and think. _Heh, food for thought. He’d like that._ He landed a few feet away from the stand.

The falafel vendor began to pull a baseball bat out from the back of his cart. “‘ey, I don’t need ya comin’ ‘round ‘ere twice in a fuckin’ night, runnin’ yer damn-” The vendor seemed to do a double-take. “Oh, you ain’t ‘im. Ya look like ya could be ‘is sidekick, though.”

It made perfect sense that this would be how he found Deadpool- right where you most, and as a result, also least, expect it. “I’m _not_ his sidekick, but I do actually need to find him. How long ago was he here?”

“Yer not even gonna buy nothin’ first?” The vendor crossed his arms, somehow scowling more than he had been.

“Sorry, sorry, of course. One, please.” Peter fished a $5 bill out of the hidden back pocket in his suit, flattened it out, and handed it to the man. “Keep the change.”

“How mag-fuckin’-nanimous of ya. Ya missed ‘im by 10 minutes.”

Peter rolled his mask back down from his nose. There was no time to eat if it meant catching Deadpool. “Which direction?”

“‘e walked off that way.” The grumpy man pointed down the street, to Peter’s right.

“Thank you!” Peter grinned and shot a web at one of the taller buildings on the street, taking off as the vendor started to hand him his falafel.

“Oh, you lousy-!” Peter could no longer hear the vendor’s obscenity-laced tirade. As long as Deadpool hadn’t hailed a cab or hit the subway, he should be able to find him fairly easily. He swung quickly down about 5 blocks before turning in the other direction. He’d make a semi-circle on his way back to cover more ground.

Sure enough, strolling down 5th Avenue in the opposite direction, was Deadpool. He didn’t seem in a hurry to get anywhere, despite the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. had somehow been unable to find him. Peter dropped down in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Whoa, hey, I, uh… didn’t expect to see you ever again.” Deadpool’s right hand had gone straight to the hilt of one of his trademark katanas. He managed to look like he’d seen a ghost.

Peter held his hands out placatingly. “Look, Deadpool- _Wade_ \- I just want to talk. Can we talk?” He began to approach slowly.

“‘Can we talk?’” Deadpool repeated incredulously. Wheels seemed to be trying to turn in his head before he fell back into his regular demeanor. “Oh, we can ‘talk’ about anything you want, hot stuff!” His hand dropped back to his side, and he sidled up to Peter, closing the rest of distance between them. He was coming across even more overenthusiastic than usual.

“...Okay,” Peter sighed, “Let’s start with the Chitauri weapons. You didn’t sell them, did you?”

Deadpool seemed to wilt. “Oh… You wanna talk about the X-Files swag? Of course I didn’t.” He looked left and right, seemingly paranoid. “But, uh… can we ixnay the itaurichay? This is some dangerous shit. Can we go somewhere else? I have a place a few blocks away.” He pointed behind himself with a thumb.

“I- I guess” Peter stuttered. He was supposed to bring Deadpool in with the weapons straight away, but he figured it would run smoother if he did things his way for a little while. Deadpool had already begun walking backwards, and then turned his back to Peter, who took a couple giant strides to catch up.

After a crazily silent walk, they came upon a high-rise apartment tower covered in mirrored panels. They went up just two flights of stairs and came to a door with a “009” on it. The 9 had come off of all its pins but the bottom one, so it hung to look like a “6.” Deadpool unlocked the door and opened it for Peter, walking in after him and re-locking the door. He was a bit surprised that Deadpool locked his doors at all.

The room was large, to say the least. There was another new, black leather couch with a matching plush chair, another nice TV, plus assorted current-gen game consoles. There were as few decorations as the last place, too.

Deadpool took a seat in the middle of the couch, while Peter chose to sit in the chair. He did take his mask off, though. Deadpool stared for a moment, possibly trying to figure out what this meant, and then pointed at the coffee table, apparently prime territory for weapons storage. “See? All accounted for.”

“You had to know that S.H.I.E.L.D. would want those. Why haven’t you talked to them yet?”

“Well, I figured I’d lay low for a couple days while I shopped around for offers- and, boy, were there offers! But then I worked out that it’d be a lot less hassle and a lot more dinero to wait for S.H.I.E.L.D. to swing by after they’d heard about those other offers. But they’d only come to me after striking out elsewhere, which I knew they would, because, again:” he paused to point to the duffel bags of weapons. “So, I had to wait a little while.”

“You’re… very business-savvy.” Peter made face that was almost concerned.

“Kid, I’ve been doing shit like this for far longer than you’ve been sticking to walls,” Deadpool laughed.

“So, here’s the deal: like you said, S.H.I.E.L.D. wants the weapons and will pay a premium for them- twice what A.I.M. offered.”

“Okay! I don’t like Big Head much, anyway. Creeps me the hell out.” He pulled an indistinguishable face under his mask.

“There is one catch, though,” Peter added.

“Aw, nuts. What would that be?”

“You have to come with me to meet The Avengers. They really want to talk to you.”

Deadpool nodded calmly for a moment before he’d fully processed what Peter had said. “Yeah, sure... Wait, they want to WHAT!?”

*****************************************************************************************

**Deadpool’s Trivia**

Is that a Rod Stewart song as the chapter title? I mean, okay, the man has the voice of an angel and the hair of some kind of glorious golden scarecrow Adonis, but seriously?

Ah, falafel- the taco’s vegetarian, Middle Eastern cousin. It’s deep-fried little balls of ground chickpeas/fava beans (also good with liver, I'm told) stuffed into a pita, with maybe some sauce, tomatoes, and lettuce or somethin’. Try it sometime!

Oh, and I guess if I’m whoring out to Netflix now, I should tell you that The X-Files series is on there (but not the movies). It was all the rage back in the day. Vince Gilligan, creator of Breaking Bad, actually wrote 27 X-Files episodes and was an executive producer on the show. Look up the theme song on YouTube- you’ve probably heard it before!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, what are our boys getting dragged into? It sure is a legit distraction from those pesky “feelings" they may or may not be having.
> 
> Next up: The Avengers?!


	6. This could only go well

Peter and Wade swung their way over to Avengers Tower. It was a little tricky, but with a duffel bag over each of Wade’s shoulders, and Wade holding onto him piggyback, they’d made it just fine. Wade had apparently decided to be surprisingly mature about the whole ordeal.

They entered Avengers Tower through the main lobby, relieved not to have been accosted by some villain or another. A wary but unimpressed secretary, definitely a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, waved them to their left and behind her, towards a small, less-than-visible door.

“State your names or code names. Both are in my database.” The disembodied voice of J.A.R.V.I.S. greeted them at the door. Wade flinched

“Spider-Man.”

“Deadpool. And how do you get used to that?!” Wade feigned a shiver. It was actually rather convincing.

“Many tell me they do not. Vocal signatures verified. 74 stories up with the two of you, then,” said JARVIS. They stepped into what they hadn’t realized was a small elevator. With the bags, it was a tight fit. The door dinged “Floor 75” in 30 seconds flat, and then opened.

They stepped into what appeared to be a combination lounge/meeting room. Absolutely every piece of furniture, coffee maker, and TV in the room was brand new and shining. The furniture all had a very modern aesthetic. One wall was all windows and led out to what must have been a docking bay for the Iron Man suit.

Tony Stark, Captain America himself, and Hawkeye were gathered around the conference table. Captain America shook the hand of a beaming Wade. “Nice to see you again, Wilson.” Tony and Hawkeye exchanged a look. “Thank you for bringing him in, Spider-Man.” Peter nodded shyly in affirmation, hanging back nearer to the door. He still wasn’t used to being in the room with the other heroes.

Cap spoke again. “Wade, we wanted to thank you for doing the right thing and bringing the weapons in. But we also wanted to warn you…”

“If you ever run off with such valuable tech again, you can say goodbye to any more jobs from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” finished Stark, testily.

“Aww, but how was I supposed to know you guys wanted it?” Wade did a great impression of a six-year-old.

“Don’t play dumb, Deadpool, we know exactly what you were doing by laying low this past week,” said Stark.

“Me, hiding?” asked Wade, wide-eyed. “There was a Golden Girls marathon all week long, I swear! My life is normally so fraught with saving dead cats from trees and helping little old ladies cross the overpass, that I decided to take a little break and keep those awful weapons out of the wrong hands! Really, you should be _thanking_ me,” he said snidely.

“That’s your idea of heroics, huh, Wilson? Not inflicting yourself on the world for a week? It’s not that easy. We saved the world last year.” spat Hawkeye.

“Oh, I wanna be _just like you_. I figure all I need’s a lobotomy and leather,” Wade countered.

“Are you… Is he quoting The Breakfast Club at me?” Hawkeye looked around the room for confirmation, genuinely confused.

“Yes,” Tony sighed. “And I highly doubt you need any more lobotomies, Wilson.”

“Tony, that’s a low blow, even for you,” Cap said sternly.

“Hey, he’s the one who said it first.” For a genius billionaire hero, Tony Stark could be awfully childish.

“So, how ‘bout those weapons?” Spider-Man cut in. Most of the group had forgotten he was in the room. They turned. He was still standing near the door, where Wade had dumped the duffel bags.

“Right. Let’s see, then,” Stark beckoned Peter over. He took both bags in one hand, lifting them as though they only contained his groceries. He briskly but gently set them on the conference table.

“Damn, I forgot you’re as strong as Cap.” Hawkeye raised an eyebrow.

“Stronger, actually,” grinned Spider-Man, and though nobody could see it, it carried in his voice. “Cap and I arm-wrestled once.”

“Hey, I still haven’t had that rematch,” chuckled Cap. The two of them were making a less-than-conspicuous attempt to lighten the mood.

Tony eyed the bags hungrily, carefully unzipping one. “Wow! There is some _scary_ shit in here,” was his first remark. He began to remove the weapons one by one, setting them neatly in an invisible grid overlaying the table, each with a seemingly predetermined place.

“Language,” muttered Cap.

Tony finished laying out the contents of the first bag. “I’ll be honest,” he admitted, “half of this, I haven’t even seen before. But the same tech is at the heart of a lot of it. It shouldn’t be too difficult to take most of these apart,” he pointed to the gun-shaped objects. “Others, though, like this grenade,” he pointed to one of the egg-shaped devices that had sprayed Peter, “I’m gonna send to the S.H.I.E.L.D. lab team. If I can keep unraveling this technology, they can get a head start on that.”

Tony walked over to Wade, who yawned at him as noisily as possible. “Deadpool, we want you to take this,” he handed him a StarkPhone. Wade took it and stared at it like _it_ was alien.

“But, this isn’t even out yet…?” Wade asked, confused.

“I know,” said Stark. “And it never will be. Not for the public, at least. It’s got a high-powered, specialized GPS tracking chip and a heavily-modded version of the stock UI that I created just for the Avengers.”

“How totally sweet is this?!” Wade waved the phone at Peter.

“Pretty sweet,” he admitted, “But didn’t you already have a phone from S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Well, _yeah_ , but that thing’s like 2 gens old!” Wade exclaimed. It seemed that he was a little bit of a phone geek.

“I’m glad you like it,” Cap said, pleased. “Now, there’s something we need to debrief you on-”

“Oooh, _debrief_?! In front of you, Cap? Why, I’d never!” Wade fanned himself like a southern belle.

He got a patient smile out of Cap, who continued, “For the last few months, we’ve been experiencing… incursions. Someone- and not Asgard, we asked them first- appears to be reaching Earth through portals. There are four that we know of, two of which got in and out almost faster than we could detect them. Another didn’t appear to be sentient, and rampaged around Times Square before Tony stopped it- I’m sure you saw that on, uh, the YouTube... Tony?” He turned to look at Stark.

“The portals’ energy signatures appear to be identical to that of the portal from The Battle. From this, we can speculate that it’s either the Chitauri or another species using their tech. The Chitauri, however, appeared to have been linked in both consciousness and longevity to their mothership. Of course, there could always be more out there, but...” Stark again looked to Cap.

“Tactically speaking, it’s quite unlikely that they’d come near Earth anytime soon, which is why we’ve ruled them out.” Cap finished.

“You mentioned a fourth incursion?” Peter pointed out.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” nodded Cap. “Agent Barton?”

Hawkeye was now sitting with his legs crossed and feet on the table, sharpening a small knife- a not-so-subtle statement. He cleared his throat before speaking up. “I saw the last one. All I could tell is that it was bipedal. I managed to send a tracking arrow through the portal with it, but there wasn’t any GPS where it was going,” he sighed. “Wilson, have you even been listening?” He scowled at Wade, who was sitting on the couch playing with his new phone.

“Look out for Chel, possibly the final levels of Darksiders. Yeah, I got it.” Wade gave a thumbs up without looking behind him, other hand still glued to the phone, then stood up. “Come on, Spidey, we need to... go try out that falafel place I was telling you about, remember?” he grabbed Peter by the wrist and started to drag him off.

“Deadpool, aren’t you forgetting something? It’s not like you to miss a pay day,” Stark called out.

“Oh, yeah,” Wade stopped in his tracks and spun around. He shuffled back over to Stark. “Figured it’d be wired, as per usual.”

“For as often as you’ve been on our payroll lately, which also happens to also be my payroll, I figured I’d make things a little more personal- and a little more difficult for you to defraud. The phone isn’t a party favor. Hold it out.” Wade obeyed, and Stark touched the back of his phone to the mercenary’s. “Direct deposit, with an Avenger’s approval only.” Wade’s phone made a _ding_ noise, and he nodded at the number on the screen, satisfied.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Wade smirked and strolled out of the room with Peter in tow. He leaned over to whisper into Peter’s ear frantically, “Let’s get outta here. I'm practically choking on the smug.”

For once, Peter actually found himself eager to leave The Avengers’ company.

*****************************************************************************************

**Deadpool’s Trivia**

I’d do the proper Breakfast Club quote, “a lobotomy and _tights_ ,” because really, it would’ve worked great on almost any other hero, but Barton wears so much leather. So much. Oh, and Netflix alert on this one, b-t-dubbs.

Chel is from Portal, of course, and the last levels of Darksiders use portals- also blue and orange, naturally.

Joe Mad (short for Madureira), creative director of Darksiders, is actually an accomplished comic artist. He drew my first limited series, The Circle Chase, and was the artist for Avenging Spider-Man… for the first 3 issues. His art is amazing, but he’s absolutely notorious for taking ages.


	7. Why does this keep happening?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooooaaaa, I only barely noticed this is over 2k hits! Wowww! Thank you guys so damn much again- for reading, and the kudos and comments. Everything! I’m blown aawayyy.

Wade had dragged Peter from Avengers Tower as though his unnaturally long life depended on it. Once they reached fresh air, they paused.

“PHEW!” Wade made a show of taking in a deep breath. “Nothing like good, clean, New York air to set you straight!”

Peter glanced at him, quirking an eyebrow, even though Wade couldn’t see it. Wade obviously understood the irony of his statement, but also appeared to be genuinely relieved to have made it out of the tower in one piece.

“Oh, sure. The airborne chemicals help build character! Strongest air in the nation. It’s practically the Alps,” Peter chuckled awkwardly, taking an exaggerated stretch and shuffling his feet back and forth. Wade had started to walk down the sidewalk, so he started after him, attempting conversation. “So… you know Captain America? That’s kind of awesome.”

“Yeah, he’s A Real American Hero, just like it says on the package.” Wade gave a tiny salute. For someone Peter knew to adore Cap, and for, well, _him_ , Wade had said very little.

“That’s it? No tall tale?”

Wade seemed to withdraw into his own head for a moment, considering something carefully. “It’s… not a very fun story.” He paused. “You want a fun story, how ‘bout that Hawkeye? What a tool, amirite?”

Peter deemed it wiser to roll with the change of topic, quirking his head to the side. “Honestly, I don’t know what you guys have against each other. I’ve never seen him do anything but help people.” He shrugged halfheartedly.

“Oh. ‘Help’- that’s what Barton says he does now, huh?” Wade glowered at nobody in particular and stuffed his hands into the front pockets in his suit that Peter had no idea even existed.

“You know what I mean. I’ve seen him save people from supervillains, stop muggings- he isn’t only self-interested. And he does it all without any powers. He was actually mind-controlled for a while before and during The Battle. He was forced to do some pretty awful things. That’s gotta do a number on a guy. Surely you can understand?” Peter tried.

“I don’t give a shit _who_ that jerk-ass is or isn’t working for. He’s still him.” Wade grumbled, kicking an empty can off the sidewalk and into the street.

“What, uh... what happened between the two of you? You’re not usually so vindictive... Okay, that’s actually really far from the truth, but still.” Peter rolled his eyes as his spider sense buzzed. He ducked, allowing a half-full plastic bottle to barely miss his head as he glanced back at the miscreant who’d thrown it. “Nice shot!” he shouted. Two guys in costumes walking down the street wasn’t _that_ weird for New York, but some people were fearless in their hatred for vigilantes- especially the ones Jameson told them to hate.

“Aw, if I knew he was gonna be part of the Superiority Complex Six, maybe I wouldn’t’ve cut ‘n run.” Wade threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

“...Oh, Wade.” Peter shook his head.

“It was a long time ago, and a prime example of why I work alone. But, hey, man, that’s mercenary work! You can’t get a stick up your ass _every_ time you get screwed over! If it pays, I stays. Otherwise…” he held out his hands in a “not my problem” shrug.

The two turned into an alley. “Hey, where are we going?” Peter was barely beginning to realize how long they’d been walking. 

“I’ve got something to pick up. Hold on.” Wade knelt down at the side of a dumpster, feeling around underneath it. “Bingo!” He pulled out a small silver gadget that looked like a tape recorder. 

“What…?” 

“Client needs it, don’t worry.” They stood in silence as Wade fiddled with his phone, pausing every now and then to look at the gadget. “Hey, Spidey?” 

“What?” Peter turned to look at him. 

“Why are you following me?” Wade still had his phone and new toy, but they fell to his sides along with the hands that were holding them. 

“Wha-what?” Why _was_ Peter following him? He wasn’t some stray puppy, he was a superhero with a city to protect. 

Wade pointed his finger at Peter like it was a gun. “Say what again! Say what again! And I dare you, I double-dare you, motherfucker!” 

Peter snorted and crossed his arms, thankful Wade hadn’t brandished a real weapon. “You interrupted me, Jules. And your Sam Jackson impression desperately needs-” 

_VWIPP_

“Hey, I don’t have anything that goes _'VWIPP'!_ ” 

Peter’s spider sense had gone haywire before he'd seen the bluish portal open behind Wade. A bipedal, reptilian alien had stepped through. It wore advanced-looking but worn golden and black armor, and was carrying a large gun using both hands. It looked unlike any of the weapons they’d found. 

Peter lunged at Wade, grabbing him by the waist, and webbed them to the top of the building across the street by the time the alien had both feet planted on the ground. 

“Whoa-oooolySHIT!” Wade shrieked. “Warn a guy, WARN A GUY!” 

“No time! The alien!” Peter pointed back down to the alley, where the invader had barely turned around to look for them, confused. 

“Are you kidding me?! What are the goddamn odds?! There’ve only been four others in, like, a year!” 

Flames spat from what looked to be thrusters on the sides of the alien’s boots and behind its shoulders, and it shot through the air, beelining for their rooftop. 

“Mother of god, it’s airworthy!” Wade cackled incredulously, pulling out a machine gun. 

“Where the hell did you get that?!” Seriously, did the guy have an actual black hole in one of his pouches? Peter stood in front of the giddy merc, waving his hands at him. “No, no, stop! No guns! Look at that armor, we’d be dealing with major ricochet. It wouldn’t surprise me if that thing’s a plasma cannon or something!” 

“Aww, you’re no fun at all.” Wade simply dropped the gun to the ground. Peter put his hands to the sides of his head in shock. “Oh, don’t have an aneurysm, the safety’s on.” 

“I don’t have time to eloquently express in how many ways that was _not at all safe_ , but I think you already know that!” Peter started to back up as the alien landed in front of them. It began to shout incomprehensibly, gesturing at Peter over and over again. 

“What do you want with? I don’t-” Peter shook his head, listening to the guttural ravings of the alien creature. At least it wasn’t shooting first and asking questions later. 

“You want I should try out these nice, new adamantium-laced swords, boss?” Wade twirled one katana excitedly. 

The alien strapped his gun to its back and reached to its belt, pressing a button on a small cube. Both men tensed. A small, egg-shaped device identical to their good friend Mr. Glowy somehow materialized from it. The alien held it out, then pointed at it and to Peter. Its face looked furious, but that may have just been its face. 

“Umm, no, I don’t have it anymore. I wouldn’t give you any weapons, even if I had them! Not to mention that you’re just not very friendly, mister!” Peter quickly took advantage of the alien’s attempt to communicate, webbing Mr. Glowy straight out of its hands with one hand, and then spinning a cocoon around the alien with the other. 

The alien stumbled backwards, taken aback. It had kept glancing at Wade, but had likely discounted Peter for his lack of visible weapons. It roared, now clearly angry, and burst from the webbing, tearing it away like it was simply a cobweb. 

“Spidey, I think it _really_ liked that thing!” Wade’s swords were now both spinning in anticipation. 

“Wade, listen: we can’t kill it, okay? We have to take this guy in!” Peter shouted to make sure he heard. 

“Yeah, got it! Y’know, doesn’t Fox own the Badoon? This is a batshit AU!” 

“What are you-” the alien charged at Peter, and he dodged expertly, allowing it to run into a large fan on top the roof. 

Wade leapt after the creature, and slashed through the armor on the back of its knee. A small amount of neon green blood dripped from the wound. Wade staggered back as quickly as he’d jumped in to attack. 

“Oh god, is it Aliens rules?! I don’t wanna die like Private Drake!” 

Peter was frantically trying to change one of his web shooters’ cartridges. He didn’t stop to look up. “I highly doubt it would be wearing that much armor if its blood was weaponized. Now, keep it distracted!” The cartridge was jamming and he yanked it back out, delicately bending the metal nozzle back into shape. 

The alien stumbled, but turned to face Wade, pulling the giant gun off its back. It made a _vmmmm_ noise, and sounded like it was charging up. 

“Okay, distraction, I can do-” 

_BWOOM!_

The plasma cannon- no, really- shot a gaping hole straight through Wade’s chest. He looked down at it, then back at the alien. 

Peter had finished repairing the web cartridge and clicked it into place. He looked up in time to see the alien shoot Wade. His spider sense never seemed to go off when Wade was in trouble, maybe due to his healing factor. 

“Alright, that was distracting to _someone_ ,” Wade visibly grimaced as the hole slowly began to regenerate and fill from the outside in. Peter briefly wondered how he could still speak without lungs, but concern rapidly overcame curiosity. The alien had turned to face Peter, thinking Wade dispatched. 

“ _Wade!_ ” shouted Peter. He lunged at the alien, delivering a swift uppercut that knocked it off its feet. He quickly webbed it up using the new cartridge and lifted the creature by the webbing to test it. “That should hold,” he muttered. He turned back to face Wade, dropping the alien unceremoniously. “Are you-?” 

“C’mon, it’s me! See? Lookit that,” Wade knocked on the scarred, bare new skin of his chest with a fist. “Good as new.” 

Peter walked towards him, still concerned. He placed a hand on Wade’s chest, who shied back a bit before stopping. “Doesn’t it hurt?” 

“Every single time,” said Wade, his voice low. He appeared to perk up in one swift new heartbeat, tearing away from Peter’s touch and shattering their moment. “But hey, look, we caught us a Badoon!” He pointed at the alien, still webbed up and laying on its side. It appeared unable to right itself with the injured leg. “What kind of web is that?” 

“It’s a carbon fiber blend of my usual webbing, for villains with super strength. It doesn’t dissolve like most of my other ones.” 

“Neat! So, I bet we could sell this guy to S.H.I.E.L.D. for, like, a _lot_ of money. Whaddaya say?” Wade grinned through his mask. 

“In your dreams. This guy is going in for questioning, pro bono. The problem is, I don’t think I’ll be able to safely take both you and it. If it tries anything while we’re swinging through the air, you’re dead weight- literally- and I’m that much less agile.” 

“Hey, that’s not a problem. I’ve got my resources. Meet you there?" 

“Sure,” Peter said. He was hesitant to let Wade go off on his own again- he still needed to talk to him, after all- but didn’t see another option. 

Wade pulled out his new phone and hopped down to the fire escape as he gave a quick wave goodbye. Peter hoisted the alien off the roof by the extra-tough webbing, and started on his way. 

********************************************************* 

**Deadpool’s Trivia**

The Superior Six were a short-lived version of of the Sinister Six- a group of some of Spidey’s greatest villains. The Superior Foes of Spider-Man, on the other hand, are the knock-off Sinister Six, led by that ass-hat, Boomerang. Never met the guy, but I’ve heard a lot of stories. 

The Badoon are lizard-looking aliens that used to attack 616 a lot and got their asses beat a few too many times. You don’t see a ton of them around anymore, which bums me out, because they look so goofy, depending on the artist! 

...Do I really gotta go back to that stupid Tower? Ugh. 


	8. An alien, a hero, and a mercenary walk into a lobby

Wade was in the lobby of Avengers Tower for the second time in one night. Usually when that happened, he was in handcuffs- and not the fun kind. Not that the cuffs stopped him- he could break his thumbs at any time. He just liked being in the place. He liked seeing where the other half worked. Which other half he was thinking about, he wasn’t sure. He stepped up to the receptionist’s desk. A different woman from the one he and Spidey met earlier sat glued to her computer screen.

“Excuse me? Hey, excuse me, ma’am,” he knocked on the desk and she looked up slowly, raising an eyebrow upon seeing his masked face. She sighed and hovered her hand over a panel of buttons.

“Yes, Mr. Deadpool? Will you be requiring the regular handcuffs or the special ones tonight?” Awww, how cute! She remembered him!

“Oh _my_ , is that laden with innuendo, but I’m not thinking about that right now! NOPE! Not at all, not for a week, now!” He cleared his throat. “Actually, today they’re for an alien. So... maybe the special kind? What are those made out of, exactly? You don’t want this thing going all Predator in here, it’s pretty nasty.” He leaned in over the sparkling marble counter further.

“Sir, do you mean to tell me you’re trying to bring an _extraterrestrial_ into custody? I... don’t think you quite understand the sheer odds of a human actually encountering an alien, even after The Battle of New York.” Her fingers now hovered over a specific button.

“Yeah, look, I know it sounds crazy, but Spider-Man'll be here any minute, and he has the alien with him. Scout’s honor!” He held his hand up in the customary three-fingered salute. The merc couldn’t remember what exactly he’d done to earn this agent's distrust, but it definitely could’ve had something to do with distraction-oriented shenanigans.

“Listen, even if I-” all of the sudden, the receptionist’s face went blank. She stared directly over Wade’s shoulder, blinked once widely, and pointed behind her to the same door from earlier.

Wade spun around to see Spidey walking into the lobby, the large, green alien limping after him as he tugged at the webbing wrapped around its midsection. Wade grinned and waved.

“Hey, Spidey, what took you so long? The craziest thing happened! Ms. Forget-Me-Not here wouldn’t believe me about the alien!” He gestured to the stunned receptionist.

Spidey seemed to wilt slightly. “...Wade, that’s not crazy at all, there’s actually a… well, a building-wide warning regarding you.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense. C’mon, they’re gonna be so proud of us!” Wade trotted towards the elevator.

“...Or suspicious,” Spidey added.

The cold, computerized voice of J.A.R.V.I.S. cut in to their conversation. “State your names or code names.”

“Spider-Man.”

“Deadpool.”

“And your… friend?” J.A.R.V.I.S. questioned.

“He’s less of a friend, more of a prisoner,” Wade supplied.

“Very well. I’m sending the three of you to Floor 30 - Receiving.” A pause. Wade kicked his feet back and forth. He was still relatively unnerved by the A.I. “Pile in, then.” J.A.R.V.I.S. opened the tiny doors to the elevator, and they shuffled in. It was a tight fit. Spider-Man turned to Wade.

“How on Earth did you get here first? I was half-expecting you wouldn’t show.”

“Uber! S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have to drive to work, too, ya know!”

Peter snorted. “I... ah... can't tell if you're joking.”

“No way, I use that shit for everything.”

“...Unbelievable.”

The doors opened and two heavily-armored S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rushed towards them. Wade waved a little too enthusiastically at the one on the right, grinning maniacally.

“Hey, Officer Bob!” Wade was thrilled to see the detention agent again. They’d had some good times.

The agent visibly cringed. “I _told_ you, it’s Agent Stamfor-”

“J.A.R.V.I.S. filled me in, and- I’ll be damned,” Tony Stark rushed into the room and smiled widely at the Badoon. “Wow, when you actually see it, it’s just- whoa.” He looked the alien up and down appreciatively. “Yeah, this is a new one, alright. Boy, have we got some questions for you, mister!”

The detention agents had brought a pair of the specialized cuffs with them that looked like an over-sized pair of Luke Cage’s bracelets. Or weren’t they bracers? Whatever. Wade knew they could incapacitate your hands with some sort of force field. They really had no need for them, though, since that webbing Spidey had used was _crazy_ strong.

“Book ‘em, Lou!” Wade called out as the agents walked off, Badoon in tow.

“IT'S STAMFORD!” shrieked the agent as he left the room.

“So, whaddaya mean, new? Thing’s a Badoon,” Wade looked at Stark like he was stupid, because _duh_.

"Deadpool, I know that if you discover a species you get to name it, but you also have to submit the peer-reviewed scientific paper, of which you are not capable of writing, and of which I most certainly am, and I look forward to sharing this responsibility with Real Genius, here.” Stark had shifted the conversation rapidly, looking expectantly at Spidey.

“Hey, whoa, I guess I’ll have to think about it, but Deadpool keeps on saying ‘Badoon,’ and I’m kinda starting’ to like the ring of it,” Spidey laughed. He craned his neck after the alien, watching as a final set of instruments were run over its body. “How are you gonna question Scaly, anyway?” Spidey nodded towards the Badoon. Leave it to him to care about the details.

“Well, at first, we’re not,” began Stark. “But we’re hoping to be able to get something out of him eventually. I have this great new A.I. based in part off J.A.R.V.I.S.’s translation software that I developed just for a time such as this.”

“I would be remiss not to remind you that there is no beating the original, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. popped in

Wade jumped a little and mouthed _How?_ incredulously at Spidey, who, even through the mask, seemed to understand what Wade had communicated, and shook his head slightly.

“So, I want full disclosure,” stated Stark. “How is it that the two of you have become veritable alien lucky rabbit’s feet in the span of under two hours?”

“Actually, and- and, it’s just a working theory, really- I think I know what happened. I, ah… I got sprayed by one of these.” Spidey nudged Wade, who retrieved the egg-like device from one of innumerous pouches and handed it to him. They’d judged it better than Wade hold on to it for the trip over. Spidey offered it to Stark. “I’m okay, but I think it must’ve left some sort of residual energy signature as whatever I inhaled works its way out of my system." He retracted his hand for a moment. “Careful, it’s armed.” Stark paused before reaching out to take it.

“It’s not gonna kill me, if, say, a lab 'bot were to mishandle it and set it off?” asked Stark.

“N-not exactly, no… No, you’d live,” stammered Spidey. Wade knew he had to be blushing. How adorable could he get?

“O-kaaaaay, that’s eerily vague. Filing that away for a later conversation. Your theory’s entirely plausible. Impressive thinking, kid,” Tony took the object, turned it over in his hand, and looked it over carefully before setting it down on a nearby table. “J.A.R.V.I.S., could you have a lab rat add this to the others?”

“Right away, sir.”

“Well, I think we’re done here unless you’re hiding any more fun toys from me…?” Stark trailed off, almost hopeful.

“N-no, no, it’s not like that at all! The alien had that thing with it. It kept pointing to it and then me, that’s how I-”

“Alright, alright, calm down, there, Sparky. You’re fine. You two get outta here and go split a cookie or something- there’s a place on the Upper West Side, cookies as big as your fist, no kidding.” Stark hurried away down the hall, already beginning to bicker with J.A.R.V.I.S. about the accuracy of the term ‘lab rats,’ and, to quote J.A.R.V.I.S., “Well, then surely ‘lab _monkeys_ ’ would be more apt?”

Wade and Spidey looked at each other for a moment before spinning around and hopping in the elevator.

“So, ah, it’s getting pretty late,” started Spidey.

“I getcha, I getcha, it’s cool because I had a date with Call of Duty and maybe AvP later-”

“Do you want to come over to my place?” interrupted Spidey.

Wade opened and closed his mouth twice. After last- _No, don’t think about that, that’s not_ \- “For real?” he asked. His mouth may have been, like, completely agape, but there’s no way Spidey would notice, right?

“Yeah, well, I’ve thought about it, and- and I don’t think I mind if you know where I live.” Spidey sounded like he did when he was smiling. The pair stepped out of the elevator as Wade totally didn’t quite trip over his own feet, and exited to the lobby.

  **********************************************************

**Deadpool’s Trivia**

Stamford was the name of a town in Connecticut that was the site of a deadly explosion where a team of young, reality-TV-star heroes were partly to blame. It triggered the Civil War event (CAP 3, WOOO!). Naturally, I sided against my bestie at the time, Priscilla [Author’s note: Cable], and went pro-registration because, I mean, they paid reeeeally well. That’ll happen when you’re bankrolled by our friend Tony Stark.


	9. In which Wade remains clueless

Maybe, for once in his life, someone actually wanted to hang around Wade more than they were contractually or heroically obligated to. It was becoming a distinct possibility, what with the no-mask thing when they were alone, and the attempting to track him down for an entire week (though, to be fair, that seemed to have been on behalf of his Avenger pals at S.H.I.E.L.D.). But still, who went out of their way to find _him_ like that without a prospective payday? The second he’d decided to make his presence known again, Spidey was there. Wade suddenly became aware of the silence outside of his brain. How far had they walked?

“Wow. Oh boy. Well. Uh…” _Come on, brain, say something not-desperate!_ “Do you have Netflix?” _That works._

“Actually, it’s all I have,” Spidey scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as they turned a corner.

“Good enough for me!” grinned Wade. “None of the Alien or Predator movies are on there, let alone AvP, so maybe something else with aliens? We could watch some TNG, maybe Starship Troopers for a solid combination of laughter and torture- I mean, if you’re a Heinlein fan, which you totally are, ya big nerd.” He stopped in his tracks, pondering for a moment. “Oooh, The Fifth Element!” Wade started walking again, and he was only rambling a little…

“Does your _brain_ have Netflix? Maybe we should wait and see when we’re there? Only a couple more minutes,” suggested Spidey, good-naturedly.

“Minutes… New York Minute! There’s one! I don’t think it’s streaming, but nobody ever considers the Olsen twins!”

“Yeah, consider it considered, but I’m vetoing anything involving the coke-namic duo,” chuckled Spidey.

“I guess the only mystery they’re trying to solve now is the mystery of ‘Who did all the god-damn coke? And maybe ‘Who is this Scarlet Witch lady and why does she look so familiar?’” giggled Wade.

Spidey responded in kind, musing with a snort, “Oh, man, I had a friend in elementary school whose older sister was positively obsessed with those two. Owned every single VHS tape, used to be a member of the fan- no, _fun_ club… They called it a fun club. We’d never go into her room because the place was basically a miniature shrine to them with all these posters and calendars and junk. And, I mean, this girl must’ve been, like, 14, I guess, and the heyday of it was long past, but she still clung to the stuff.”

“...God, you’re young. We can dis’ the Olsen twins all we want, but those mystery movies were pure gold. They had their own basset hound, there were musical numbers…” Wade continued to reminisce to himself.

“Not gonna lie- that’s a little weird, bro. But, to each his own!” Spidey slowed his pace slightly. “Hey, we’re coming up on my place now. Follow me into the alley.”

“Said every serial killer ever.”

“Aw, can it and get over here. I’m not nearly as fond of explosives as you. Plus, I went into your alley earlier.... fair’s fair.” Wade could again hear the smile in his voice. It was incredible how Spidey could do that.

“That’s what he said!”

“I’m going to ignore that remark, seeing as how I’m going to ask you to climb onto my back now, which may be even worse.”

“Boy, is it!” howled Wade as he clambered onto Spidey, piggyback. He did his best to push the  impure thoughts from his mind, but the panels were _right there in his head_ , and he blurted, “I feel like we’ve maybe done this before?” Quickly adding, “But not in a weird way, because it wasn’t even you- I mean, technically, it was your _body_ , but-”

Instead of crawling, Spidey shot a strand of webbing to the top of the fire escape without a word and reeled them up swiftly. Wade hopped off of the smaller man as soon as possible.

“Better than the elevator, right? And I can stay in costume. Everyones’ window is either boarded up or has the curtains drawn in these buildings. Nobody wants a view of an alley, and those that get stuck with it block it out,” commented Spidey as he fidgeted with the window.

Wade leaned in to get a look at what he was fiddling with, not entirely surprised to find a bizarre contraption with flashing lights and tiny gears where there should’ve been a very basic window latch. Spidey pushed a certain part in with a paper clip as he swiped his phone a few times. It clicked and one of the lights flashed green. Bingo! Spidey opened the window, motioning into the apartment.

“Welcome to my humble- and I _do_ mean humble- abode.”

Wade swung his legs through the window, running into trouble at his shoulders. He flailed his arms around mock-helplessly. “Can I get a hand?” he called out, staring back at Spidey upside-down.

Spidey gave his shoulders a quick push, and Wade tumbled onto the floor of the apartment. He was in the kitchen, which led directly into the living room/entryway. The white paint on the cabinets was peeling, revealing a repugnant brownish color beneath. The refrigerator looked like it had time-traveled from the ‘80s. Spidey hopped in through the window expertly, perching on the counter. “Sorry it’s so run-down,” he sighed. “The place was like this when I moved in, but you can’t beat the price for the location. ‘S just how things are when you spend most of your time super-heroing instead of doing… y’know, regular work.”

“Hey, it’s cool,” Wade clambered up off the floor and brushed himself off unnecessarily. “It’s exactly like my first apartment! Or some of the ones I have right now, for that matter,” he paused in an attempt to tally up how many apartments he had anyway, then banished it from his mind due to the futility of the effort.

Wade opened the fridge- empty besides a half gallon of milk- and then moved on to a cabinet containing only two Cup o’ Noodles packages, a giant bag of cereal (apparently it comes in big, resealable plastic bags when you’re poor), and an unopened box of bargain brand popcorn. “And your Avengers friends don’t kick in at all? I mean, the least they could do to repay you for saving the day is get you some actual fucking food! You’ve been in that tower. Those assholes are hemorrhaging money!”

“Hey, hey, I’m lucky to have what I do. And a… well, a _few_ years down the road, I’ll have my doctorate, and I figure that’s where I’ll use my in with them- use Spider-Man as a reference. ‘The guy who makes Spider-Man’s web shooters and fluid!’” Spidey yanked off his mask and hopped down off the counter. “So, uh… have a seat on the couch and find something to watch. I’ll start the popcorn.”

“Right! Movie! Of course!” Wade scrambled over to the tattered brown couch awkwardly. A large, overturned plastic bin acted as a stand-in for a real coffee table. He shifted to the left and pulled a pillow out from behind his back, which turned out to be one of his Deadpool-themed blankets, folded neatly into a pillow-like rectangle. What the- did that mean something? He wasn’t sure. I mean, the guy was obviously hurting for household amenities in a big way, so… He set it on the arm of the couch.

Spidey started the microwave before following Wade into the living room. He kicked off his boots and threw off his gloves, then nabbed a scruffy NYU hoodie from the coat hooks. He threw it on over what remained of his Spider-Man costume. He sat down next to Wade and smiled, looking from him to the TV, before nodding his head towards the remote. “The remote’s right there, you know,” he pointed to the impostor coffee table.

“Oh! Er… right, sure thing,” Wade snatched the remote up, turning on the TV and trying not to think about how close Spidey was to him. The “couch” was really more of a loveseat.

“So, now that we have the chance… I’m Peter. Peter Parker.” Spidey grinned widely while also managing to let out a big sigh. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for a while, but we’re usually out in public, so… Yeah. It’s not something I tell a whole lot of people.”

So, he trusted Wade? Is that what this was? He needed a confidante? “Nice to meet you, Petey. Everyone and their cousin already knows my name, but, uh... my middle name is Winston! But don’t call me that, it sounds all hoity-toity, like maybe something you’d name a french bulldog. Wade is good.”

“Neat,” smiled Sp- no, _Peter_. “So, do you remember earlier when I said I needed to talk to you?”

“Uh… yes?” He didn’t really, or maybe he did and had thought it was about something else.

Peter flushed bright red. “It’s about… last week. I-I wasn’t _completely_ out of it, especially after my spider sense went off when you pulled the knife on me. I think the drug only kind of… drastically lowered inhibitions, as opposed to being some sort of-of… ‘sex pollen’ or something.” It was so adorable how he stuttered- like he’d worked on it for a long time, but it still came out when he was embarrassed or nervous. He paused, wringing his hands before getting a certain glimmer in his eyes. “I’m thinking perhaps it’s supposed to be used as a last-stand type of thing. Like how during World War II, Japan experimented with giving their suicide pilots meth. Funnily enough, they discontinued the program due to the side effects. What we’re dealing with has regenerative properties on top of all that… It’s probably quite expensive given the way we were being pursued.”

Wade snorted, distracted by Peter’s show of knowledge. He hadn’t fully processed what had been said. “Dude, sex pollen’s a total trope that, let’s admit, pretty much applies here, but…” he trailed off. “Wait, _you’re_ apologizing?!”

“Well, y-yeah, I didn’t really get the idea that you were, uh, completely into it... I mean, the knife-”

“Oh, pshaw, that’s just how I say hello! Don’t you worry your gorgeous little head over it!” The merc snickered when Peter’s eyes caught the gleam of Wade’s favorite small knife as it twirled between his fingers. He’d procured it from its sheath at the sheer mention of the weapon- you know, for fun, but also a little reflexively. Peter seemed baffled, as though he’d never been caught off-guard before. He had just mentioned some kind of spider sense. Maybe it was on the fritz.

“Popcorn!” Peter stood abruptly, a solid second before the microwave timer actually went off. “I should- I should get that, right?” he asked as it started to beep, and hurried over to retrieve their snack. He walked back to the couch briskly, setting the opened bag in the middle of the seat. A flustered Peter again sat down next to the popcorn, and by extension, Wade.

“Sorry, I don’t really have a bowl, and some of the bottom is burned.”

“That’s okay, that only gives it more flavor,” exclaimed Wade as he rolled his mask up to his nose and took off a glove. He plunged his now-bare hand into the bag of popcorn and took an inhumanly large bite. He suddenly paused mid-crunch. “WAIT, were you saying what I thought you were saying a minute ago?! I go a little spacy sometimes, and thought, ‘Y’know, this is probably-’”

“YESIreallylikeyouandhaveforalongtime!” Wade thought he was the only one who could speak that fast- and then promptly choked on his popcorn. Peter patted his back lightly as Wade coughed, everything seeming to come full circle.

Wade’s brain started to reel as his world came to a screeching halt. Spidey- _Peter_ , who he had, like, the biggest crush on- he… liked him? _Like_ -liked him? He… wasn’t disgusted at the thought of sex stuff with him again maybe? I mean, I guess Peter had been following him around all night, but he thought maybe it was because he felt bad. Like... a consolation following-around.

Wade cleared his throat dryly. “Peter, I thought- I felt so bad, I thought I’d taken advantage of you. I could’ve left if I’d tried harder, but I just... couldn’t. I really like you, too. I mean, you know you’re my favorite- but, it seemed like more of a jokey, imagined sexual tension thing we had going.” He stopped to consider that he didn’t do that to any other hero- well, at least not nearly so constantly or persistently.

“In-in the beginning, maybe, but last week my feelings really, uh... came out. I looked for you for a week, Wade. A week. Part of it was The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. and whatever else, but... I also had to see you again- make sure we were okay. And when you vanished...” Peter scratched the back of his neck like he did.

“That was purely a business decision! And yeah, maybe a little mushy feelings stuff, too. It’s not that often that someone sleeps with me without wanting an assloadof money in return.” Wade tugged his mask back down over his nose absent-mindedly at the thought.

“Wade… they’re hot.” Peter touched his palm to the side of Wade’s face.

“You weren’t just saying that?!” Wade pulled back incredulously.

“Of course not.” Peter wilted slightly. “Everything I said before, I meant. And still mean,” he said sternly. He held Wade’s gaze the best that he could. “It’s not that… I mean, I don’t have some kind of fetish for scarred-up guys, but… Wade: they’re part of you. And _you_ are attractive to me- the package deal. The scars? They’re you. And everything about you, I…”

Wade reluctantly peeled his mask off slowly, and Peter smiled mildly. “I like to see your eyes…” he trailed off, gazing into Wade’s pale, almost yellowish-white eyes. He’d been scooting subtly closer to him, and finally moved in, kissing him hungrily as the actual food got knocked to the floor.

Wade hovered his arms a bit before settling one hand on the small of Peter’s back, and the other on the back of his head, entwining his fingers in the messy brown hair. He could get used to this.

They breathed heavily as they made out on the couch, each slowly growing bolder in their ministrations. Wade delighted in grabbing one of Peter’s ass cheeks in each hand before dragging the smaller man, who had been on his knees- _Oh god, Peter on his knees_ \- into his lap. They quickly became aware of each others' arousal.

They went on for another few moments before Peter suddenly tried to back away- much to Wade’s dismay, who bit Peter’s lower lip and definitely didn’t whimper in protest.

“Hey, now, no kicked puppy face- UGH, it’s like 4 times as effective without the mask!” Peter giggled and hopped off the couch.

Wade smiled a little and made grabby hands at Peter. “Where are you gooooiii-EEK!”

In an act of what was probably at least partially revenge, Peter easily scooped the larger man up in a bridal carry, kissing him before he could protest. Wade maintained that he would’ve protested, but... _GUH_. Peter carried him to the tiny, nearly empty bedroom. He dropped him on the plain, but neatly made bed (okay, mattress) before angling himself over him and kissing him again.

“Why, I never~” exclaimed Wade, who smirked and pulled his legs back, propping his head up on the sole pillow.

“‘Never,’ my ass,” laughed Peter, as he bent down over Wade, placing each hand on one of his shoulders.

“Well, your ass-”

“Is off-limits today. Right now, it’s your turn,” grinned Peter, maybe even a little deviously.

Wade gawked more than he already had been before settling onto his back completely. “That’s g-good- I mean- GREAT! Yes. YES.” He drew Peter in for another long, deep, kiss, while shifting his other hand’s attention from Peter’s ass to his lower back and then hips, working his thumb in nervous little circles.

Peter touched his nose to Wade’s gently, and they shared a meaningful gaze. “This is okay for you?” he asked as he lightly pressed his erection between Wade’s legs..

“OKAY?!? Is this- this is a practical-  I’m being PUNK’D! Ashton better make like a Snake and pop out of that fucking overturned box over there, or else-”

“...I’m going to take that as a ‘yes,’ then,” smirked Peter as he nuzzled Wade before reclining a bit and pulling down his tights.

“...Really? You’re not wearin’ _anything_ under there?!” exclaimed Wade, trying not to stare too hard. _Heh, hard_ … Wait, _WHAT_??

Peter couldn’t seem to help but blush as he explained, “No, not today, specifically, but there’s a cup in my suit so it’s not like…”

“OH MY GOD you’ve been planning this, haven’t you?!” squealed Wade.

“As much as one plans such things, sure,” Peter flashed an unexpectedly smug smile and leaned in to kiss Wade’s exposed neck, swirling his tongue in delicious little circles.

Wade squirmed with pleasure and then scooted back after a moment. “Whoa god, I’m being bitten by a spider!” he grinned, jaundiced eyes sparkling.

Peter lifted his head, amused. “Oh, as though hickeys are something you evenneed to worry about,” mumbled Peter before sucking on a small patch of mottled skin on the opposite side of Wade’s neck.

Wade pondered over whether he should remove his shirt because _skin touching skin_ or to just go for the leggings and get this party really started. He opted for the top, jerking himself upright and shooting his arms up into the air like some kind of extremely horny goalpost.

“What are you-? Oh, what, suddenly _you’re_ non-verbal?” sighed Peter as he dutifully removed Wade’s top for him, pausing afterward to kiss a line from his neck to his navel, stopping to run his tongue along the inside of Wade’s bellybutton.

“YYYyyeah-OKAY let’s- let’s-” Wade jerked back involuntarily and promptly hit his head against the wall that would’ve been a headboard if Peter wasn’t so broke. He cleared his throat. “ _Now_ ,” he growled, slipping his thumbs underneath either side of his spandex leggings, starting to pull them down.

Peter’s hands, which had been ghosting along Wade’s hipbones, moved quickly downward to slide the spandex down to his knees. Wade’s erection burst free as he groaned needily.

To Wade’s ever-growing astonishment (among other things), Peter took himself in hand before tilting his head down slowly towards Wade’s newly-freed erection. Those enticing, pouty lips hovered teasingly over the head of the shaft before he gazed up at him- _God, those dilated eyes and it’s not some alien drug_ \- and licked from the bottom to the top of Wade’s oddly textured member.

“Petey,” Wade practically whined, “As fucking amazing as this is- as you are- “ he grabbed Peter’s shoulders, propping him more upright, “I need you _right now_.”

Peter smiled, deftly craning one arm over the edge of and underneath the mattress, cramming his hand between it and the box spring. After a brief moment, he tossed a condom and a bottle of lube into the air, seemingly haphazardly, before making it right back to his position above Wade, catching the implements in the opposite hand without a glance.

“Did I accidentally sign up for some kind of perverted Cirque du Soleil thing? You’re certainly flexible enough... Is that one of your spider powers or can you just do that? I mean, like, damn, kid, if that wasn’t the sexiest-”

“Wade,” Peter had already put on the condom, opened the bottle of lube, and was working at slicking up two of his fingers. “ _Hush_.”

Peter gently pushed one finger against Wade’s opening questioningly at first, before sliding it all the way in. Wade writhed and Peter paused.

“Ohgodnodon’tstop,” Wade managed to squeak.

The edges of Peter’s mouth quirked upward as he added another finger, pulling them almost all the way out and then back in. He kept at his slow, grating pace before Wade finally broke his uncharacteristic silence.

“This is fucking great but you’re teasing me and I told ya, it’s been a while and I’ve got this whole healing factor thing so you don’t even really need to be-”

“Say no more,” Peter grinned, with this strange look in his eyes that Wade had only seen a couple other times in his life. Like most things emotional, he filed it away to fully process for later. Peter positioned himself in front of Wade’s opening and concern spread over his face for a moment. “You’re sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure if you don’t start fucking me sillier than I already am right this instant, I’m gonna straight-up impale myself on you in 2 seconds flat- and not the fun kind of impalement that involves copious amounts of blood,” Wade put on the sternest expression he could, now contently aware that Peter could see it. His mask could convey a lot, but it was also his poker face. It may have felt almost good to really be _seen_ for once.

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but instead let out a small sigh as Wade’s scowl faltered. With their eyes locked intimately, he quickly removed his fingers and lubed himself up. He began pushing into Wade slowly. Wade shuddered in the most gleeful possible way as his prostate was nudged just so, wrapping his arms around Peter and pulling him close as he inched deeper inside.

Peter pulled back out slowly before Wade grabbed his ass, forcing him straight back in. “C’mon, I’m not some delicate flower. Less 40-Year-Old Virgin, more Brokeback Mountain. _Just fuck me_ ,” he pleaded, with a devious look.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Peter leaned in and kissed Wade passionately, speeding up gradually until they found the right pace.

Wade slipped one arm between them, beginning to stroke himself. “Not gonna last much longer, here,” he grunted. This was the best action he’d gotten in months- no, years.

Peter nodded into Wade’s shoulder before suckling on the twisted texture of the merc’s skin. He sped up with urgency, coming shortly before Wade left a mess of both of their stomachs. Neither of them seemed to care. Peter pulled out carefully and collapsed on top of him. Wade constricted his arms around Peter, who seemed to get the message.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Peter whispered in his ear, nuzzling it tenderly.

They dozed off in a haze of bliss, and for once, Wade thought, he wasn’t going anywhere, either.

*********************************************************

**EPILOGUE**

Wilson Fisk, Kingpin of Crime, stood in the rooftop garden of his penthouse apartment. He gazed into the distance, eyes glazed over. He could’ve passed for some kind of massive gargoyle if he hadn’t suddenly rotated his head and directed his eyes slightly to the left.

“Your master has been adequately and intimately informed of my… _disdain_ for unneeded stealth,” The Kingpin spat grimly.

A figure clad in black ninja garb stepped out from behind an actual gargoyle, and Fisk, unfazed, went straight back to staring off the roof. “My apologies, Kingpin-san.” The ninja gave a quick, but sincere bow. “It was not my, nor my master’s intention to approach you from a place of aggression, nor unneeded subterfuge. I simply have a message to convey regarding our recent failed arrangement.”

“Speak, then. Enough formalities. You know as well as I do that our organizations stand on troubled ground,” Fisk stated, again without moving.

The ninja was beside him before footsteps could be heard. The Hand trained their kind to be invisible in ways normal human beings could not be.

“If I may be so bold, the loss of the weapons has impacted both of our organizations equally. My master wishes to seek a new arrangement- one to retrieve the weapons. If this proves impossible, as our observations entail, we might instead seek… vengeance.”

The Kingpin nodded solemnly, otherwise unmoving. “Yes...” he drawled. “Restitution will be had.”

“With our combined forces-” started the ninja.

“With our combined forces, we will _obliterate_ them.”

*********************************************************

**Deadpool’s Trivia**

...What? Seriously? I just had a very personal- and now I have to- FINE! You know what? I’m feeling a little better about this whole thing, so fine.

I’m only kind of sorry about the Olsen twins stuff. It sort of came out and wouldn’t stop. I find their saga fascinating. But they’re still releasing clothing lines, so I suppose they’re doin’ alright. Besides, Elizabeth must be rakin’ in enough bank for the whole damn family after Avengers 2… And Godzilla, for that matter… HEY, TWINCEST! Aaron Taylor-Johnston and Elizabeth Olsen are totally married in that Godzilla flick. Weird!

SpOck, Doc Ock in Spidey’s body, totally gave me a piggyback ride this one time and I hope you’ve seen the panel or page (most recent run of my series, issue 10, page 7) because it’s for you guys! I mean, really, though, the whole issue is fabulous. And, well, the series… BUY MY MARVEL NOW!™ TRADE PAPERBACKS. Hey, now, it’s not shilling if it’s self-promotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to again thank all of y'all for reading and for your patience. This last chapter took a long time to write and I couldn't bear splitting it in two (although an even 10 chapters would've placated my obsessive tendencies quite nicely). The epilogue is thrown in because this could definitely continue due to that certain large plot thread, but I'm in for a very busy summer! Well, and fall, too... there's a Con to prepare for!! So, I'm not promising anything, but it seemed both prudent and at least partially conclusive to throw that last bit in.
> 
> And I'm sorry, but this is my first time writing something and I've just gotta say thanks AGAIN for sticking around 'til the end.
> 
> XOXO dugg

**Author's Note:**

> This actually simply started out as me saying, "Can I write Spideypool?" This chapter was my test, and then I couldn't stop writing! So please, there is much Spideypool coming your way - keep reading!


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